


DC10: Canada

by WichitaRed



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 06:00:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13001355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WichitaRed/pseuds/WichitaRed
Summary: Canada: it might be a safer place to be, but our guys are still in Kansas and the day just went sideways, and fast.Destiny’s Cycle (DC) follows the Outlaw days.. what does Destiny have in store. Each month, I get a challenge, and then the cycle continues. You can follow KC, HH, & the gang through their adventures. DC does link together, but some tales stand on their own. Yet, its building its own world history, inside jokes, characters, places, etc. I hope you enjoy DC. Feedback WELCOMED!





	DC10: Canada

“Canada”

 

 

 

“This really isn’t necessary.”

Looking over, Howard MacKeefe unveiled a toothy smile and snapped the shackle closed, “As I stated, I am keeping you right close ‘till you pay off.”

“Didn’t think you meant... I got to be your bedroll pal each night.” Heyes grumped, edging as far from Howard as the chain connecting them would allow.

“If I did otherwise, the pair of you would take off north, so fast… well, you might overshoot Wyoming and not pull up ‘till you was standing in Canada.”

Tucking an arm under his head, Heyes’ dark eyes went to Curry, who was once more being roped to a tree and forced to sleep upright. His expression vividly detailing how wearisome, he was of such arrangements.

Like past mornings, dawn arrived bright and clear, and when Heyes sat up, he swept a hand across the brittle, dry ground. His gaze shifting to the orange ball rising from the tall grass, he thought, ‘no dew, it’s fixing to be one hellishly hot day.’

Climbing aboard their horses; he and Curry caught one another’s eyes and the look they passed, reaffirmed, as it did every day, ‘whatever move you make, I will back you.’

They were traveling the same route Kid Curry had planned for them, although the shaded trails along the Arkansas River had faded away to the windswept, stoic beauty of the plains. Not that they had been noticing any of it, the only thoughts they had time for were schemes for escape.

Difficulty was each morning their hands were tied behind their backs and their horses ponied to another mount. Furthermore, they were not even allowed to ride alongside one another. No, Howard had them well in hand and thusly, they had not been able to share more than a few words, this past week, and none of those private.

The summer heat rose with the sun and the group plodded on in silence. Howard’s gang was tired of each other’s company and Heyes, simply was not allowed to talk; a full day’s cycle wearing a gag had convinced him of the seriousness of this maxim.

 It was not even noon yet, and the horses were sweating as wetly as the men upon them were. When they topped a long rise from the basin, they had been riding across, there was a jewel blue band blanketing the far horizon.

“What you think, Boss?” Barton asked, his eyes traveling across the darkening, stripe.

“Do not be worrying any; it is a good ways off.” Howard replied with strong certainty.

Having been born to the plains, Heyes and Curry both knew, the storm was not as far off as Howard wanted the others to believe. They looked left and right, doing so in perfect unison and, other than the rolling, waving grass there was nothing man or nature made in sight.

Frowning, Heyes noticed Curry, up ahead of him, shift in his saddle, and drive his boots tighter in his stirrups and agreeing with him, he did the same.

The seven of them rode on, the deep band had changed for now there were patches of brilliant turquoise green, and the top looked like the foaming waves on a moonlit sea.

Walter coughed, it sounded loud as a train whistle in the silence, clearing his throat, he declared, “That storm starts movin’ this here way, I ain’t stayin’ in my saddle to be fried by lightning.” 

Howard MacKeefe’s head turned like a snake to his pock-faced gang member, “You will do as you are told or you will forfeit your share.”

Walter twisted his reins, grumbled under his breath, and hipped his speckled mare into a trot, taking them both away from MacKeefe’s fierce glare. His mare happened to be the one ponying Heyes’ sorrel and Walter’s dodge of his leader, brought him up alongside Curry. Even from the corner of his eye, Heyes could read the tension in his partner. They had faced a fair share of severe storms over the years, yet, nowhere did one compare to the unfettered ferocity of a plains blowup.

The horses were huffing in the heat, their hooves slipping here and there on the tall, buffalo grass and as the slope became steeper, the men leaned forward in their saddles, shifting their weight to help their mounts. Cresting the top, a rush of icy, wind hit them, splaying out the horses manes and whipping the grass like it might uproot it.

Gooseflesh spread across Heyes’ body and checking Curry, he saw his face was fixed like stone. Where others might think, he was being stoic about it all; Heyes knew better. He knew his partner had the same all-overish feeling crawling along his sweat soaked skin, too.

The rolling moonlight sea of clouds was building, rising, boiling into a towering formation, massive enough for the Gods of this land to take note. Sensing the impending wrath in the dark blackness ahead of them, the horses whickered, their ears flicking back and forth, as they twitched and hopped beneath their saddles.

Another gust spun Howard’s fancy bowler from his head. Heyes watched it jump and flip from sight, but then he noted how the grass it skittered away on was completely flat. Shifting to see all around, he confirmed he was right. The grass about them was being smashed down and tilting his head to peer up at the heavens, he swallowed hard at the spinning clouds above them, an “Oh, hell!” bursting from him like a pent up breath.

Curry too was taking in their situation, but much darker curses were slipping from him.

As they did this, the sky exploded, blinding forks of light branched out in great arcs, and the clouds began to churn faster. Then a bolt struck, so big and loud, it was like a finger of God blinding and shaking the group down to their bones.  

The horses came unglued and taking a death grip of his saddle’s cantle, Heyes slammed his heels down. His muscled sorrel took out, ripping free of Walter’s twisting, snorting mare. The smell of charred flesh swept past Heyes and the thunder rolled, but he was running and free.

 Seeing him so, Curry encouraged his bay to follow. The wound-up gelding needed little encouragement, he was scared, and his trailmate was leaving him. In a bunched leap, he bolted, dragging the smaller bay, he was tied to, until the rope snapped.

Another blast of lightning struck and Heyes yelped, shrinking tight to his horse. Yet, when Curry’s bay nosed up, so their horses were running neck and neck, a smile burst free. Chancing a look over, wanting to share this brief joy, he found his cousin’s face painted with utter and absolute terror. Not bothering to look, he pounded his heels mercilessly against his gelding’s sides.

The clouds had moved beyond churning, having succeeded in spinning out a fully formed funnel. It howled like the darkest, nightmare beast, pulling, sucking, devouring all it could reach.

When that first bolt blasted Howard from his saddle, a jolt of fear had raced through Heyes; fear that one of them might be next. But this twister behind them, it was teaching him fear of the likes he did not know existed. For the very blood, pumping in his veins had become imbued with a burning, numbing fear.  

Curry’s blue eyes caught sight of his cousin’s waxy pale face. His cousin, who got them out of difficulties, his cousin who had protected him since they were young, and all he could see, was cold sweat terror. He recognized the look because he felt the same way… that it was wrapped tight about his heart. Then some corner of his mind, recalled the prayers his Mother would say over him each night, her words of protection and devotion. He could not recall the last time he had said them himself, and wondered if that might have been a mistake on his behalf… on both their behalfs.

 


End file.
